


One glance and the avalanche drops

by colonelcatastrophe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelcatastrophe/pseuds/colonelcatastrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire doesn't realize just how drastically his life will change after one late-night confrontation with a pajama-adorned god among men, caused by an innocent Shakespeare knock-knock joke and two uni students' need for illegal grilled cheese.</p><p>Otherwise known as the Amis modern university AU that no one wanted or needed, complete with POC and non-binary characters. Pairings will be added to the description as they occur. xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pericles Who?

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters, I only love them.  
> I am modern AU trash.  
> Title from "Avalanche" by Walk the Moon.

“Why _you_ insist on walking me home every night when you have three times as far to walk is beyond me,” Jehan protests with a sigh and a dramatic eye-roll, his dark eyelashes fluttering all the while.

The thin, grey-pallored man next to him only smirks. “Because you, kid, would be a sweet little snack for any predatory Sig-Apes who happen to be strolling down the street at night.” The hulking Sig-Apes, named for the Sigma Epsilon (or Sig-Ep, as they called it) fraternity just down the block from the honors dorm where Jehan lives, although notoriously obnoxious, aren’t dangerous as a whole - just relatively low-IQ. Especially on Thirsty Thursday, the night when their frat house most often shook with the beat of party mixes and co-ed encounters, like today.

Jehan notes as such.

“I’d just have to zig-zag and I’d outrun them in no time.” He laughs, a joyous ring of a thousand chimes. “Besides, they’re much too busy with their own endeavors to bother with me. So I’m afraid that excuse doesn’t fly, sir.”

“Come on,” the other man faux-groans. “You’re not gonna make me say it, are you?”

Jehan simply smiles brightly and stares, unblinking, reminding his companion of a Japanese porcelain doll, until he finally gives in. “ _Fine_. I like spending time with you, Jean Prouvaire.”

He doesn’t flinch as Jehan smacks him on the arm good-naturedly. “See? Was it that hard? We’re friends now, Grantaire. No take backs. And as friends…” He pulls Grantaire through the doors towards the elevator, flashing his ID card at the front desk worker as he does so. “...you absolutely must come up for a drink and a snack before I send you on your long walk home. You’ve been a god-send, for goodness sakes. Without you, we never would have gotten those sets painted, and you’re not even a tech major! You’re not even taking a tech _class_!” Jehan throws both of his arms in the air in exasperation as they step onto the elevator and he pushes the button for the fourth floor. “It’s three in the morning, and you chose to help me instead of doing whatever it is you would have been doing, and I can’t let you go without a proper thanks.”

“Sleeping. I would have been sleeping,” Grantaire clarifies in a monotone, but with an underlying sense of amusement. When he’d agreed to help the younger student, it was out of no charitable intentions. He craved the chance to paint, and when it has been presented to him, he took up the task with gusto. At the time, he hadn’t realized that he’d unknowingly signed up for spending hours upon hours a day with the poetry-spouting, endlessly cheerful Jehan, someone he’d only seen for marginal periods of time in their Brit Lit class.

But as strongly as Jehan’s entire being clashed with Grantaire’s life-views and perspectives (he didn’t even think one person could burn so brightly before he’d met Jean Prouvaire), he found that he really did enjoy Jehan’s company.

It had been a distinct surprise. But, also surprisingly, not an unwelcome one.

As they step out of the elevator, Grantaire can’t help but whistle in appreciation. “Wow. It’s so… uh… _clean_.” The hallway is almost blindingly bright, even though half of the fluorescent lights are off since it’s past quiet hours. The carpet, which is so plush Grantaire can feel it through the soles of his beat-up combat books, smells new - which makes no sense, as he knows that the building is no less than fifteen years old. There are no dicks drawn on the dry-erase boards on the doors, no used condoms littering the corners of the hall, no trash in sight at _all_. Every door is closed. And it’s dead silent.

“And it’s so _quiet_ ,” he can’t help but add.

Jehan leans closer to Grantaire as he links arms to take him down the hall. In a whisper, he remarks offhandedly, “Well, it’s the honors dorm. Everyone’s either studying or asleep.”

The explanation does nothing to abate Grantaire’s confusion. “But the clean?”

“The staff does a really nice job.”

Grantaire considers this for a moment. “You’re never visiting my house.”

“Yes, I will,” Jehan says. Grantaire doesn’t bother to disagree. Jehan’s probably right, after all.

Jehan takes them around one more corner before he stops in front of a door and fiddles with his keys to unlock it. Once they get inside and Grantaire shuts the door behind him, Jehan raises his voice back to its normal volume. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got hot chocolate or tea. And we can make grilled cheeses on my non-regulation mini-grill, as long as we don’t burn them. I don’t want to set off the fire alarm again.” He begins to busy himself trying to find, presumably, the bread. In the meantime, Grantaire takes in his new surroundings.

To say that it looks like a rainbow threw up all over the room would be a slight understatement. There’s fabric and lace and _feathers_ of every color adorning every piece of furniture in the room. Grantaire thinks he _might_ be able to make out two desks underneath the pile of stuff in the corner. A set of bunked beds takes up the majority of the space, and books are stacked haphazardly on every piece of linoleum that isn’t already covered in fabric. The sense of chaos that pervades the room makes Grantaire feel distinctly more comfortable than he had in the hallway. “My roommate’s a costume design major,” Jehan explains, noticing Grantaire’s observant stare.

“And you’re English, right?” Grantaire takes a stab at Jehan's major.

“Undecided. But yes, probably either English or theatre. Make yourself at home, darling. Let me just find the cheese.” He throws himself under a pile of half-hemmed dresses to get to the hidden refrigerator.

Grantaire settles onto what is probably is a beanbag, under all the glitter. It’s going to coat his pants, he’s sure, but they were already covered in paint so the damage has been done. He calls over towards where Jehan is still rummaging through the fridge. “English and theatre, huh? So you must love Shakespeare.” He hums briefly, before knocking on the hard floor with the knuckles of one fist. “Knock, knock.”

Jehan’s head pops up back from under the dresses, his hair sticking statically every-which-way. “Who’s there?” he answers merrily, catching on.

“Pericles.”

“Pericles who?”

Grantaire grins cheekily. “Well, I know it’s not _Hamlet_ , but it’s not _that_ unknown…”

Jehan absolutely loses it, nearly shrieking. Grantaire is glad - after the stressful week he’d had, with such a huge grade riding on his set design, he knew Jehan needed a good laugh. After a moment, Grantaire can’t help but join in with his own deep chuckle.

“Oh, god…” Jehan whines, wiping a tear from his face, still trying to control his giggles. “That’s so good. _So good_. Bless you.”

“It wasn’t even that funny, Jehan.” But Grantaire’s protestations can’t mask his pleasure at proving useful. “You need funnier friends if that made you laugh that hard.”

“It’s a good thing you’re here, then.” Jehan takes a deep breath before dissolving in laughter once again.

At that moment, there’s a knock at the door.

Jehan falls silent comically fast, his eyes wide.

The knock comes again.

“Pericles who?” Grantaire whispers, unable to resist.

Jehan dissolves into laugh-crying once again, curled up on the floor and gasping for breath.

It really wasn’t that funny.

Though Grantaire realizes that Jehan’s reaction may also be an effect of living on purely grilled cheeses, coffee, and two hours of sleep a day for the past week.

“Open the door in the next ten seconds or I will go to the residence hall advisor,” hisses a cold voice from the hallway.

With Jehan out of commission, Grantaire has no choice but to hop off the beanbag and shuffle over to the door, feeling slightly guilty that he was probably about to get Jehan in trouble but unwilling to regret the joke anyway.

“Are we bothering you?” he says, forcing his voice to sound unbothered, before wrenching open the door.

In the hallway, framed by half-lit fluorescent lights, stands an avenging god, all angles and blonde curls and fury. And plaid pajamas.

Grantaire can only gape as the deity speaks aloud, his voice as cold and as sharp as his bright blue eyes. “And who the hell are _you_?”

 


	2. Abstract Cheese Sculptures?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments! We get into some E/R confrontation in this chapter. Enjolras gave me trouble in this section and I'm not super satisfied with how it turned out, but we'll roll with it anyway.

“And who the hell are _you_?”

Enjolras crosses his arms in frustration as he waits for an answer from the lanky boy with the shockingly green eyes and the disheveled hair and the paint-covered, glitter-covered clothes, whom he’s definitely never seen before. Unless either Jehan or Floréal have distinctly changed bodies in the past week or so, this man definitely does not live in the room next door.

Ergo, he should not have woken Enjolras at such an ungodly hour.

(The fact that he had not, in fact, been asleep mattered little in the grand scheme of polite dorm decorum. All that mattered is that he _would_ have woken up.)

The other young man, however, only stares, open-mouthed, like a fish just begging to be snapped up by a line.

Enjolras glances down to be reminded that he is, indeed, in his pajamas. He looks back up to glare at the stranger again. “I wouldn’t be in this state if you had been able to keep your voices down,” he hisses.

Finally, the stranger swallows and seems to come back to consciousness. “Whoa, there. We were just having a laugh. Didn’t mean to cause a disturbance, but it couldn’t be helped.” He crosses his arms and leans casually against the doorframe, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Enjolras spots Jehan’s familiar head poking around the opposite edge of the door as he seems to pick himself up off the ground, slices of unwrapped cheese clutched in his hands. “Tell him the joke, Grantaire. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“I don’t want to hear a joke,” Enjolras growls, brushing his curls out of his face impatiently. The significance of the unwrapped cheese hits him. “ _Jean Prouvaire, tell me you were not about to make another grilled cheese_.”

The stranger… Grantaire… throws his hands up in the air as if to prove his innocence. “No, man, look, we were just…” He glances back at Jehan before nodding sincerely. “It’s for an art project. Trying out ideas for recyclable… uh… sculptures. Because they’re edible? It’s…”

“...abstract?” Jehan supplies.

“Abstract.” Grantaire nods again.

“Bullshit,” says Enjolras, not buying it for a second. “And if the fire alarm goes off again, and we have to evacuate barefoot outside _again_ , I _am_ reporting your sandwich press or whatever it is. Some of us are trying to study, Jehan. You know that.”

Jehan blushes guiltily. “Sorry,” he says. And Enjolras knows he means it, since Jehan is the single most genuine person he’d ever met. If Jehan had been alone, Enjolras knows he’d be quiet as a mouse as soon as he was asked. But he wasn’t alone, and Enjolras suspects that it was the not-alone part of the situation that had caused the ruckus in the first place.

This suspicion is only enhanced by the stranger’s refusal to partake in the apology. Instead, at Enjolras’ words, Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you were asleep.”

Enjolras waves his hand dismissively. “I would be by now if I hadn’t had to come scold you.”

“Scold us?” Grantaire lets out a bark of a laugh. “Are we children now?”

“Apparently, you are.” He frowns. “If you’re going to be visiting Jehan, you have to follow the rules.”

“I don’t _know_ the rules. I don’t live here.”

“Obviously.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Grantaire stares pointedly at Enjolras, who realizes he _doesn’t_ know what he means.

He also realizes that he’s becoming uncharacteristically flustered. He, the champion of the university debate team, the top student in the College of Global Humanitarianism (technically, the only student in that college, since he created the major himself through the honors program) - he, who always knows what to say, who has been trained in how to evaluate a situation and react accordingly… _he_ is flustered. This revelation only worsens the issue.

“I haven’t seen you before, and I know nearly everyone on the floor,” he explains stiffly.

“Who’s to say that I don’t live on a lower floor?”

“Do you?”

“He doesn’t,” chimes Jehan, at the same time as Grantaire answers with a resounding “nope.” He pairs this with a grin, his amusement clearly fueled by Enjolras’ frustration.

Enjolras narrows his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with this infuriating individual standing before him. It’s late, he’s exhausted and annoyed, and he just wants to go to bed, but Grantaire insists on continuing to wind him up. “I don’t have time for this. I have an exam in four hours, and if I fail because I’ve fallen asleep mid-sentence, the fault will be yours.”

“Nah. I’d say it’ll be _yours_ , since you’re the one who’s so touchy about sound while you… ‘sleep.’” Grantaire makes sarcastic air-quotes.

Jehan bumps shoulders with his guest. “Come on, ‘Aire. Let’s let Enjolras go to bed.” Grantaire opens his mouth to protest but Jehan clamps a thin yet powerful hand over it so that Enjolras can only hear vaguely frustrated mumbling. “We’ll try to keep it down, I promise.”

Enjolras nods and straightens his wrinkled pajama shirt awkwardly. He suddenly feels as though perhaps he may have been too harsh on the pair next door. And yet, Grantaire is still trying to speak through Jehan’s fingers - now it sounds like he’s trying to _sing_ \- so Enjolras only sighs. “Yes, and again, please be careful with the abstract... cheese… sculptures. Good night, Jehan... Grantaire,” he says with a nod to both of them separately, the second only slightly stilted.

The latter falls silent at Enjolras’ address, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Jehan takes the opportunity to slam the door shut, waving with his free hand just before obscuring himself from view. “‘Night, Enj!”

Enjolras jumps at the intensity of the sound - after their less-than-quiet confrontation, he’s surprised that no one else has peeped their heads out into the hallway to see what was going on - and takes a deep breath. After the echo of the door slam gently fades away, he waits in the hall for another minute or so, just to make sure that the sound previously emanating from the room doesn’t start back up now that he’s left them alone.

Once he’s satisfied, Enjolras stalks back into his room. Inside, the Filipino young man in black horn-rimmed glasses, also in pajamas but curled up in his bed reading a novel by the light of his desk lamp, glances up at the sudden re-entry of his roommate. “You weren’t unkind, were you?” he asks, his voice quiet and calm.

“Of course not,” Enjolras scoffs, flinging himself back onto his own bed. Combeferre knows him better than almost anyone else, and is fully aware of how grumpy Enjolras can get when he’s stressed about an exam. So clearly, there’s no convincing him. “It’s not my fault. You would _not_ believe the man Jehan has over. I’ve never met someone so obnoxious in all my life.”

“What Courf-level?”

“At least six times worse. Minimum.”

Combeferre rubs one of his eyes sleepily, knocking his glasses askew. “It’s good Jehan’s found a new friend.”

Enjolras can only grumble. “He’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Mmmhmmm. Well, it’s settled now.” Combeferre clicks off his lamp, leaving only the moonlight through the window to light the room. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight.” But Enjolras is now more aware than ever of the low murmurs sounding through the wall next to his bed. It’s absolutely maddening. And as much as he hates it, he’s still curious about the joke that sent Jehan into stitches (though he’d never admit it).

Now that there’s finally silence, his mind won’t settle down. It’s supremely ironic. He tries to readjust his blankets when he hears another soft burst of laughter from next door. A disgruntled groan escapes his lips, and Enjolras can practically sense Combeferre’s amused smile from across the black room. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters, flipping over again and trying to salvage what’s left of the time he has to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about the majors for the characters revealed so far:
> 
> Jehan - Undecided, leaning towards English or Theatre  
> Grantaire - (well, you'll find out)  
> Enjolras - Global Humanitarianism (basically it's a combination of social work, and international studies, and politics, with a little philosophy thrown in)  
> Combeferre - double-majoring in Business Management (accounting, finances, and administration) and Organic Chem, the latter being his "fun" major


	3. Potentially hallucinating?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I know this bit is short, but I wanted to include R's reaction to the last chapter, through Jehan's perspective. I hope it's not a disappointment, haha.

“‘Night, Enj!”

Jehan makes sure that the door to the room is solidly shut before releasing his hand from over Grantaire’s mouth. It’s unnecessary now, anyway, since his friend stopped babbling as soon as Enjolras disappeared from view. In fact, he seems to be rather in some kind of shock.

Grantaire is still for a moment more before he turns and leans in so close that his nose is almost touching Jehan’s. His eyes wide, he whispers, “Did that just happen, or am I hallucinating?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I don’t think I’m high, and I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Jehan catches on. “Oh. You mean Enjolras?” He quirks a brow, amused. “Yes, he’s real. He’s got a bit of a strong personality, as you could tell.” If Grantaire’s been put-off by Enjolras, he wouldn’t be the first one. In Jehan’s opinion, the strong-willed young man next door was brilliant, and had a good heart, but not exactly the friendliest person in the world, especially when he was annoyed. Combeferre, the other student next door, was much more approachable. Jehan got along quite well with both of them, actually, when Enjolras wasn’t in a bad mood.

But clearly the encounter had something of a negative effect on his current guest. Grantaire flops back onto the beanbag, staring up at the ceiling despondently in an obvious juxtaposition to his joyous bantering a moment ago.

Jehan frowns, not sure what to do to cheer him up. Especially when he doesn’t know what the problem is. Sure, Enjolras had been touchy, but Grantaire had seemed to enjoy provoking him. “Look, it’s not that bad… We could go back to the theatre, make the sandwiches there. Then we could be as loud as we wanted. You could even tell me more knock-knock jokes,” he offers hopefully.

Grantaire bites his lip and taps his fingers unconsciously against the bedpost beside him. “I….”

“You…?” Jehan prods gently.

“Listen,” he begins seriously, his eyes still locked on the ceiling. “That man is a deity. The righteous fury of a higher power combined with the golden locks of a celestial being… I do not know how to process this. And I’m still not one hundred percent sure the last twenty minutes weren’t some kind of fever dream.”

Grantaire found Enjolras attractive. He _liked_ him. The revelation hits Jehan like a lightning strike. “Of _course_!” he crows. Grantaire had been so stunned to see Enjolras standing in the hallway… and then he kept provoking him, perhaps to prolong the conversation? The theatrics, and the sarcasm, and the banter. Oh, how had he missed it before? It was obvious, really, now that he had caught on. “You could have just _told_ me.”

“I just did, didn’t I?” Grantaire scowled, but it seemed to be less directed at Jehan and more at himself. “It doesn’t matter. On a campus this big, I’ll probably never run into him again. And if I do, he’ll just remember me as the asshole who kept him awake to argue.” He sighs.

“Let’s not be negative, shall we?” Jehan quips, taking on the scolding tone that Enjolras’ voice had held just a short while ago. He hadn’t known Grantaire long, but it didn’t seem as though he had the most positive view of himself. Sure, Grantaire hadn’t made the _best_ first impression with Enj, but there were always second chances. And really, with both of their quick wits, they would make a good pair.

So he mentioned as such. “Alright, so this time didn’t go so well. But you will see him again, and he won’t be able to help but see how wonderful you are.” Jehan spins around brightly to grab the butter for the bread, so they could finally get back to making their long-forgotten grilled cheeses.

Grantaire, on the other hand, is still dejectedly preoccupied. “How? I don’t live in the honors dorm. Too stupid, remember? _He_ thought as much, too.”

Reaching out, Jehan lightly smacks his friend’s arm. It hurt to see how easily his self-confidence could be taken down a notch. Grantaire was a fabulous artist, a wonderful conversationalist, incredibly funny… he just had to realize it, and own it. “ _Wrong_. No one’s said any such thing. And there are other ways to orchestrate a run-in again, you know.”

“Like what?” Grantaire sighs again. “Ah, never mind. You're right, let’s go back to the vaguely-literary knock-knock jokes. Or any other topic that doesn’t remind me of my spectacular failure.”

“I could burn the sandwiches on _purpose_ this time,” Jehan suggests coyly, refusing to be deterred. “You know, so we all have to evacuate. Everyone. Plenty of time for further… conversation. With certain individuals in plaid pajamas.”

Grantaire cracks a smile, and Jehan continues. “And I suppose in that case, the panini press may get confiscated, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.” He places a hand over his heart with a sigh and shakes his head dramatically.

Grantaire finally laughs at that. “Nah, we can skip calling the fire department this time. But I appreciate the offer.”

“You had better.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet Grantaire's roommates in the next chapter! Aw yeah.


	4. What did dumbass Marius do this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own these characters, though I wish I did, because that'd be cool.

The pink light of the rising sun is just beginning to tinge the sky when Grantaire finally slips out onto the street, leaving Jehan curled up on the floor of his room, asleep. A brisk October chill pervades the air, and Grantaire flips his hoodie up over his mass of hair and yawns as he begins the long walk home.

He treks past the music instruction buildings, past the history buildings, past the student center, and finally and takes the sidewalk down towards his street. A few haggard partygoers from last night are also beginning to straggle on home, and he gives them nods of support solidarity as they pass, too tired and hungover to respond. Other than those few falls of footsteps, the streets are quiet and peaceful, as even students with eight a.m. classes are still safely tucked away in bed.

But although it’s solitary, Grantaire has plenty to think about. Thinking too much while alone is something that, historically, does not end well. But he smiles as he pictures Jehan’s delighted laugh, and appreciates their hours and hours of just… talking. About theater, about books, about art, about television, about everything. There hadn’t been even a moment of judgment or an awkward pause, at least until Jehan had fallen asleep mid-sentence.

Plus, the memory of Enjolras - god, Grantaire realizes he doesn’t even know his full name - in his rumpled pajamas, quick-witted and righteously furious and beautiful beyond imagining, is still at the back of his mind. Even though their conversation didn’t end particularly well, Grantaire knows he’ll have plenty of inspiration the next time he manages to pick up a sketchbook.

He finally reaches a crumbling one-story house painted green, with a brick base and two bicycles locked to the railing of the porch. Grantaire climbs the slanting steps up to that porch, complete with once-gray futon and its enormous snoring inhabitant. Rummaging for his keys, Grantaire kicked the bottom of the futon. “Bahorel, dude, wake up,” he called loudly, amused.

“Whasssit?” the man bellows, sitting up in bewilderment, his eyes bloodshot.

“Forget your keys again?”

Bahorel rubs his face with a tanned hand. “Mmmm.”

Grantaire opens the door. “Did you try knocking? Ep’s probably home, you know.”

“Nah, they’re out. And Feuilly’s… I don’t know. Somewhere. Not here.” He stretches with a groan that sounds more like a yell and pulls himself off of the futon, shuffling past Grantaire into the house. “Thanks, man.”

Inside the house, there’s not much empty space, but it’s very lived-in and loved. Three mismatched sofas that have seen better days are squished in the main area inside the front door, one of them forced sideways against the front window. A liquor-bottle covered bar separates the living room from the kitchen, where Grantaire can see that once again, no one’s done the dishes piled up high in the sink. Perpendicular to the bar is their one low-ceilinged and dimly lit hallway, which runs back to the bathroom, laundry room, and two bedrooms that the house contains. It’s small, but it’s home.

As Bahorel shuffles off towards his room, Grantaire heads to the bathroom for a shower, shaking his head. Really, the only reason no one’s stolen the porch futon overnight yet is because Bahorel ends up sleeping on it more often than not. But before he makes it to the bathroom, he hears Bahorel’s voice echoing through the house, coming from the room he shares with Feuilly. “You _asshole_! Why didn’t you let me in?”

Feuilly dashes into the hallway, all six feet of him, slouched as normal and with his curly red hair sticking out in every direction. “I was asleep!”

Bahorel’s tirade continues, though he doesn’t follow in pursuit. “I banged on the door at least ten times. Dick.” Grantaire peers around the doorframe to see that he’s already flung himself face first on the bottom mattress of the bunk bed he shares. (The last renters had bunk beds and were too lazy to move them out, so Bahorel and Feuilly ended up sharing them. Surprisingly, the bickering over who got the top bunk had only increased so far, though Feuilly usually lost.)

Feuilly rolls his eyes out of Bahorel’s line of sight. “Don’t forget your keys next time, then! I’ve got to run to work. See ya.” He salutes Grantaire with a grin while dashing around the corner of the hallway and out the front door. Feuilly works most of the time - he does maintenance work and gardening for the public park on the other side of town, and loves it - but it does mean that Grantaire doesn’t see much of him except for on the weekends. “Good to see you, too, Feu,” he calls out the door.

With the house essentially to himself now that Bahorel is already snoring again, Grantaire finally has time to grab a clean pair of pants and an oversized sweater from his dresser in Bahorel’s closet and jump into the shower. By mutual agreement to save money, no one takes hot showers, so Grantaire makes it quick, the only thing slowing him down being the paint from last night’s set-painting now dried in his hair.

Once out, he’s just settling onto one of the couches in the living room - his favorite, and the one that serves as his bed when everyone else is home - when Eponine barges in through the back door, the one back in the kitchen.

“I need a cigarette,” they demand. 

“You owe me, like, ten packs by now,” Grantaire says, but he’s already getting off the couch, pulling two cigarettes out of the pack he’s stashed under one of the pillows. “What’s the emergency?”

“This is a smoke-and-tell story. Come on.” They immediately turn and head back out the door, onto the concrete slab furnished with lawn chairs that serves as the back porch. It’s a spectacularly non-scenic view which looks out onto the electrical poles and gravel drive of the back alley, but it’s great for a smoke break. 

Grantaire lights one cigarette with the lighter they keep under one of the chairs and gives it a puff before lighting Ep’s as well. Eponine is the youngest member of the house - they’d be a sophomore if they were taking classes, two years younger than the other three in age, though they’d only be one grade behind Grantaire’s standing as a junior. Even though Grantaire has known them for the shortest amount of time compared to his other two roommates, the two of them shared an unshakable bond. He settles on the top concrete step, folding his still bare feet beneath himself. “So, tell. I don’t have class until eleven, so unless it’s an epic, you should have plenty of time.”

 Eponine’s hard brown eyes gaze unseeing towards the alleyway, their dark hair obscuring their face from Grantaire’s view. “I was working, yeah? Damn coffee shop opens at five now on Fridays.  Anyway. Who walks in but Marius.”

Grantaire frowns, not liking where this story is going already. Marius Pontmercy is a freshman business-law major, apparently, though Grantaire’s never met him. (Eponine befriended him the first week of school when he couldn’t figure out how to read a map and ended up wandering around the Village, the strip of bars and independently-owned shops just south of campus, before getting distracted enough to walk in front of a city bus. Ep pushed him out of the way, almost breaking their own ankle in the process, and that was that. Marius tried carrying them to the hospital, but ended up taking them even farther in the opposite direction, though finally stumbling across his own dorm in the process. Thus. Pontmercy had made his first friend at school, and Ep had fallen in love with the unspectacular young dumbass.)

“So he orders his boring latte, the idiot. And I make it for him, fine. Marius stays at the counter to chat, which I would be all over, except it’s hard to pay attention to anything when he’s staring at me with those puppy-eyes of his. Eventually a customer comes up and asks for a recommendation, and I tell him to try the hazelnut chai for once, because I love making them and no one ever orders them. And then Marius says… get this… ‘You should listen to her. She has the best taste.’”

Grantaire whistles lowly, disappointed, while Ep frustratedly blows smoke into the air. “Yeah. So I’m like… ‘Marius, you know I’m not a she.’ Because I told him, you know, weeks and weeks ago. And he goes… oh, god,” they cover their face with their hands. “God, it gets worse. _Worse_ , Grantaire.”

He pats their back comfortingly with his free hand. “Just get it over with. What does dumbass Marius say next?”

“‘But you’re wearing a dress.’”

Grantaire exhales out a deep breath of smoke. “Do you want me to beat him up? I could beat him up.”

Eponine groans. “It’s not like he’s trying to be cruel, he’s just ignorant. But still. Anyway. That’s my story.”  

“Sorry, Ep." 

They shrug. “Yeah, well.”

The two of them smoke in silence for another few minutes. Then Eponine speaks up again. “I had a favor to ask, too. The guy whose order I was taking when Marius fucked up spectacularly - he was surprisingly cool about the whole thing. Said that if Marius didn’t get the whole non-binary thing, he might want to come to this… I don’t know. Some kind of meeting. So Marius agreed, probably because I looked like someone punched me in the stomach and he felt bad. I was gonna go too, but I literally cannot take any more stupidity alone today. Would you come with me?”

“Where is it?” Grantaire asks. “I mean, I’ll come, of course. But for my own reference.”

“Right there at the Musain. I guess they meet every Friday night, which I wouldn’t know, because I’m stuck working the morning shifts every fucking day.”

“Okay, yeah. I can come.” It will finally give him a chance to meet Pontmercy. Although Friday nights, he usually reserved for going out to the bars with Bahorel, or drinking copious amounts of cheap wine at home. Still, he figures supporting Ep is more important.

As always, Eponine was on the same page. “We could come back and get drunk afterwards."

Grantaire smiles. “Even better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to recap, we've got: 
> 
> Jehan - sophomore, undecided, leaning towards English or Theatre  
> Enjolras - junior, Global Humanitarianism (basically it's a combination of social work, and international studies, and politics, with a little philosophy thrown in)  
> Combeferre - junior, double-majoring in Business Management (accounting, finances, and administration) and Organic Chem, the latter being his "fun" major  
> Grantaire - junior, major tba  
> Bahorel - senior, getting a gen ed degree (which I have to figure out how to mention in the story at some point, but figure you might want to know)  
> Feuilly - non-student (but senior-aged), works for the city park  
> Eponine - non-student (but sophomore-aged), works as a barista at the Musain  
> Marius - freshman, majoring in business law
> 
> And just as an fyi, Ep is meant to be of Indian descent and non-binary, though I didn't figure out a way to work the former into this chapter in description, so it'll happen at some point.
> 
> Also, I promise I don't hate Marius, haha. But from Grantaire's perspective, I kind of had to.
> 
> Next chapter - the meeting at the Musain.


	5. What was that, Grantaire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own these babies.

Ep twists the end of their scarf idly. They’ve texted Marius to meet outside the Musain, so that he can have a chance to meet Grantaire before the three of them go inside to check out whatever meeting the coffee shop customer suggested earlier.

Eponine is distinctly uncomfortable.

It’s not that they don’t want their two best friends to meet - they’ve let themselves become closer to Grantaire and Marius than they’ve gotten with anyone outside of their siblings. But having the two of them in the same place at once - well, it’s bound to get awkward.

Especially since Ep knows that it’ll be clear from the moment Grantaire sees them look at Marius that they’re a goner.

They didn’t mean to fall for him, obviously. But Eponine couldn’t help it. Marius was the kind of person who would bring them ice cream after a long shift at work, someone who would stake in a sickly cat from the street even though he knew he was allergic, someone who was so good that it should be impossible. He was far too sweet, and his freckles were adorable, and Ep never had a chance.

Grantaire, of course, had no clue. They’d done their best to downplay their complete lovesickness, at least in his presence. But now there’d be no hiding it.

Ep wouldn’t mind going ahead and telling Grantaire. They were best friends - and they knew Grantaire wouldn’t make fun of them (well, any more than was required by the standards of their friendship) or say anything to Marius. What Eponine dreaded was Grantaire looking at them with any ounce of pity. Because Marius clearly didn’t see Eponine that way. He had never tried to flirt with them - Ep wondered if he even knew how - and he’d never shown to be even remotely romantically interested in them. Yet Eponine had still clung on, for whatever reason. They didn’t quite understand it themselves.

“Is that him?” asks Grantaire from his place leaning up against the side of the Musain, nodding in the direction of the average-height, average-weight, mouse-brown-haired, extraordinarily freckled man walking towards them.

“Yep, that’s him,” they say with a sigh.

Marius visibly brightens as soon as he catches a glimpse of Eponine, and they feel a familiar pang of uncalled for joy in their heart. “Hi, Ep!” comes his adorably squeaky voice. “And you must be Grantaire!” He thrusts his open hand in Grantaire’s direction, sporting a beaming smile on his face.

“Hey?” he replies, and Eponine can tell that Grantaire is taken aback by the other student’s apparent enthusiasm. But he shakes Marius’ hand and gives him a smile. “I’ve… uh… heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, god.” Marius pales immediately, his voice suddenly mournful. “You already hate me, don’t you?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” says Eponine, elbowing Grantaire in the side, hard.

Grantaire grunts. “That hurt, you.” He rubs his side. “But Ep’s right. I don’t hate you, I promise. I’ll wait to judge that later.”

Marius’ relief is comically apparent. “Good. I was worried. Because, you know, I’m, uh, kind of clumsy? And forgetful. And uncoordinated, both physically and socially. I don’t mean to be, but, uh…” he rambles. Eponine finds it sickeningly endearing.

“Stop right there.” Grantaire puts his hand up to put a halt to his stuttering. “You’re good, really. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” He grins. “Actually, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I can tell you the best stories about Eponine. Like the time they tried to--”

“That’s enough for now, better get inside, we don’t want to be late,” Eponine spits out in one breath, yanking Grantaire’s arm with extreme force. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

“What was that?” they ask, their voice sickly sweet.

Grantaire coughs. “Uh, nothing.”

Marius looks between the two of them, lost in confusion like a freshwater fish thrown out to sea. “Um. Yes. Okay. So are we going in?”

“Yes,” Eponine stresses, pushing her two idiot friends through the front doors of the Musain.

Inside is the coffee shop that’s become Eponine’s second home. A warm rush of air hits them as they enter the building, which is split into two parts by the staircase in front of them, 80s pop music drifting down from the speakers crammed into every corner. Sometimes the speakers play indie folk music, sometimes Top 40 hits, sometimes rockabilly swing, depending on the musical tastes of the baristas on duty.

To the left of the stairs is the ordering counter, with its chalkboard menu covered in doodles and with puns written between and around the actual items for sale. Hand-colored signs drawn in marker are everywhere, proclaiming sales on everything from the freshly baked chocolate chip pumpkin muffins to the Boo Radley lunch sandwich. A messy bulletin board covered with ads for shows by local bands and club meetings from the university is propped up next to the front window, and against the wall is a coffee bar stocked with all the flavors of the day that earn free refills.

To the right of the stairs is the low-ceilinged dining area, a mess of mismatched tables and chairs. A new anti-war themed art installation covers all the free space on the walls, with artists’ bios tacked up near each piece, and sculpture pieces lining the shelf usually filled with old books and board games. A small stage is set up in the corner, with barely enough room for a chair and a microphone. Students mill about the room, looking at art, sitting and enjoying their bagels and coffee even though it’s nearly dark outside. A low level of chatter floats through the atmosphere.

It’s crowded, and it’s cramped, and it’s insanely disorganized, but it’s perfect to Eponine.

But as much as they love the coffee shop, they lead Grantaire and Marius up the dark stairs to the second floor, where all the nightly student gatherings are usually held. The second floor is much like the dining area on the first, though it’s lit with antique chandeliers instead of fluorescents, and is equipped with a coffee bar along the wall that also serves alcohol. It didn’t use to, but the requests were overwhelming. And for a student meeting, the room seems fairly packed, with most chairs filled and mostly-empty pint glasses scattered across the tables, intermingling with espresso cups as well.

In fact, there is already a dark-haired young man giving some sort of announcement about an upcoming booth at the student activities fair. Of course, no one is listening to his speech, since everyone has turned their attention to the newcomers who’d just clomped up the stairs. Every eye is on them, looking incredulous at the interruption. Even the student speaking trails to a stop.

Eponine is busy surveying the room cautiously and Grantaire is hanging behind, but Marius takes a step forward. “...are we late?” he asks tentatively. “If this is the right meeting…  Someone told us… well, me… to come? Because I keep messing up my friend’s pronouns… Someone told us this was at nine?”

A collective groan echoes throughout the room. The student at the front shakes his head in consternation. “Goddamnit, Courfeyrac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to end it there or it would be too long of a chapter. Hopefully I can get the next one up sometime this weekend. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I've planned out what each Ami's major is, what they look like, who they room with, all of that - and I hope to share those all with you throughout the next few chapters. This is set in America, because I only know how America works. Grantaire is my baby. Jehan is, too. All of the Amis. I love all of the Amis. Pls send help.
> 
> Hope you liked it! Leave me comments so I have motivation to continue. Constructive criticism is also appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! xx


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